You Can't Find Me
by The Voice of the Bones
Summary: "Darry wheeled around and slapped me so hard that it knocked me against the door." Ponyboy Curtis runs from his house that night, but he doesn't run to the lot to get Johnny. Instead he runs as far as he can. Alone. Not to be seen again, until two years later. He has no memory of where he's been or how long he's been gone. Did he really run away like the police said?
1. He Did This to You

My body jerks upwards faster than I can process what happened or that I had fallen asleep in the lot. Again. My hands push up on the old bench seat that has been here for as long as I can remember, springs jabbing into my stomach and stuffing sticking to my clothes. I'm wet. Sopping wet. It takes me a few seconds in the dark to register that its raining. When did it start raining? I could swear the sky was clear when I ran out of the house… Wasn't it just a few hours ago that Johnny and I were looking up at the stars talking about what it would be like to live away from here? A few hours… Darry must be out of his mind looking for me. I push myself up onto my feet, swaying slightly. For a moment I almost decide to stay here, anger flashing, remembering the sound of Darry's palm against my cheek and the feeling of my head against the doorway. _Let him worry._ A cruel voice in my head snarls. _He did this to you. _ My head jerks back like someone hit me again. _He did this to you. _Did what to me? Where the hell had that come from? Other than the welt on my cheek and the little bruises and cuts the socs gave me earlier nothing has been done to me. My throat burns suddenly as though in protest of that thought. It doesn't go away, in fact it starts burning harder. Like someone rubbing sandpaper down my insides. The pain makes up my mind for me. I can't remember ever being this thirsty before. I start trecking my way home. It's too dark to see but my feet know the familiar path through the lot and back out to the street. They could probably carry me home blind if they needed to. I move silently passed all of my familiar landmarks, like Two-Bit's house, then Johnny's. I pause in front of Johnny's. Something is off. I don't know what, but something is wrong. I have to stop for a minute to try and figure it out. Then it hits me: its quiet. It's never quiet at the Cade's, especially at night. Never. His parents are always drunk and angry.

"Johnny," I call out, but all that comes is a rasped whisper. I cough weakly and try again.

"Johnny!"

It doesn't help. This time is somehow almost quieter. It hurts like crazy. I lift my hand to my throat and for the first time in my life consider knocking on the Cade's door. I shake my head suddenly. What am I thinking? Johnny isn't home. He's almost never here, especially when he doesn't need to be. He even said that he wasn't going home tonight.

_But he wasn't in the lot… _

I shake my head again trying to get rid of the strange feeling in my skull.

He's probably at our house, sleeping on the couch, or he went to Buck's to find Dal. He does that sometimes. I force one foot to move. Then the other. Again and again until I am moving away from the Cade's and back on the path to home. Johnny and I live on the same block so it doesn't take long until I am standing outside of the chain linked fence that separates our yard from the street. The porch light is on, but all of the inside lights are out. I sigh in relief and smile.

_Thank you, Sodapop. _

They aren't looking for me. They waited for me to cool down and come home on my own. At least I can avoid Darry until tomorrow. I push open the gate and mount the stairs. I nudge the door open with my foot as quietly as I can, not bothering to turn on any lights. I don't want them to wake up yet. Maybe Darry will be calmer in the morning if he gets some sleep now. I stick my hand out and run it along the wall until I find the entrance to the kitchen, I stumble my way to the sink and turn it on full blast, sticking my mouth under. Nothing has ever tasted so amazing before. I'm not even bothered that most of it is running down my chin and into my nose.

It feels so good. So, _so _good.

Odd choking and spluttering noises keep coming out of my throat but I can't be bothered to care. I don't care about how loud I'm being or how I possibly became so thirsty in a few hours. I just keep my eyes closed and my left hand curled tightly around the faucet. My body sags heavily against the cupboard.

I swallow mouthful after mouthful until I lose count.

"Sodapop?"

It's Darry.

I ignore him and keep drinking. He clearly isn't talking to me. If he wants to ignore me, that's fine. I'm too busy trying to calm the fire in my throat to pay him any attention anyway. Soda will get him back to bed soon enough. I try to ignore his presence and wait for Soda's voice to respond.

"Soda?"

I keep choking down water. Let him get mad. Let him hit me again. I don't care.

A hand reaches out and grips my shoulder, my body reacts before I can even think. I whip around and shove with as much force as I can muster, which is a lot. My hands meet something solid that stumbles back when I hit it. It doesn't stay back. It flies at me and I get a fist to the jaw. Pain explodes in my head and my body gets light and heavy at the same time and it is like I'm floating away...

When I come back I'm pinned to the floor face down and I can taste blood in my mouth.

What the hell? How did…?

I twist around, trying to get away.

"Stop!" Someone roars "Stop! Who are you?"

That voice. I know that voice.

"Darry?" I croak out. He's got my arms behind me and his hand on the back of my head holding it down.

The hold falters just a little bit.

"Are you one of Shepard's? Damnit, I told him not to send any of you here high-"

"What are you _talking_ about? It's me! Get off!" I twist around again.

"Me who? I don't know who you are."

The fist in my stomach clenches harder and an anger burns through me. He wants to pretend he doesn't know me, really? Fine.

"Soda!" I scream "Soda!"

He flips me over onto my back and for the first time I get a good look at him. He looks awful, purple bags under his eyes and more than a few days of stubble on his face. He must have gotten into it with somebody also, because there is a bruise blooming under his left eye and blood flowing out of his nose. He looks about a hundred years old. My eyebrows go together.

"Darry? What… what happened to you?"

He doesn't answer, just roughly grabs my face with his hand and moves it from left to right, looking confused. I reach up and grip his wrist lightly.

"Darry, where's Soda? What's going on?"

Suddenly there's recognition. His grip falters, eyes widening in shock.

"Ponyboy?"

He's looking at me like I'm a ghost and the feeling that something is horribly, horribly wrong increases tenfold.

"Yeah, Darry, it's me. Who'd ya think it was?"

"Ponyboy." Darry repeats in the same disbelieving voice, like he hasn't heard a thing I've said. The fist he has holding my wet t-shirt tightens its grip while his other hand hovers over my face.

"Darry," I repeat "Stop it. This isn't funny." I'm trying to sound tough like Dallas so maybe he'll listen to me and stop with whatever game this is, but my voice shakes. His hand finally rests on my face gently. Gently. Darry's never gentle with me, Soda yes, but not Darry. Darry's always rough with me without meaning to be. I jerk my head away from him.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to stay out this late."

_I didn't mean to! I didn't think! I forgot! That's all I hear out of you! Can't you think of anything?_

I regret the words as soon as they're out of my mouth, remembering the ones he yelled at a me a few hours ago. His eyes flash quickly with something akin to recognition and his other hand grabs my shirt and hauls me up into a sitting position. His hands moving to grip my upper arms tightly, giving me a sharp shake.

"Ponyboy- what- how… Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He shakes me so hard my head snaps back, just like he did when the socs jumped me earlier this afternoon- well yesterday I guess. I am so relieved that he is acting normal that I almost start laughing, that is until I notice the pounding in my head and the starbursts begin exploding behind my eyes.

"Ow, Darry! I'm okay, stop shakin' me!"

He stops but doesn't acknowledge my words in any way, he moves his hands to my face and holds it tightly so I can't turn my head. I watch as his blue green eyes roam hungrily over my face. He gives my head one last jolt.

"Where have you been?!"

I hesitate before answering, knowing staling will only make things worse.

"I- I fell asleep in the lot. I didn't mean to."

I wait for the backlash, because surely he is going to be thoroughly upset and I'm not sure I want to have to face it alone. He just laughs this chokes awful sounding laugh, bordering on hysterical.

"Asleep in the-? For two years?"


	2. Need a Haircut Geraser?

I lock myself in the bathroom and try to breathe deeply. Two years. Darry says I've been gone for two years. Not hours, days, or even weeks. Two _years. _

But that's impossible, because I'm still me. I'm still the same fourteen year old kid I was last night at the drive in with Johnny. The world can't just go on and leave one person behind can it?

I reach up and run and hand through my hair, which stops a lot sooner than I'm used to. I freeze before doing it again, and again. There's a couple fistfuls less than their should be.

_Need a haircut greaser?_

I shudder and grip my hair in my fist trying to pull myself together to look at my reflection. Two years. That makes me sixteen, Soda and Johnny's age. Except; it isn't. They'd be sixteen now, wouldn't they? If this is real, not some sort of nightmare or punishment. The door handle rattles, causing me to jump.

"Ponyboy!" Darry calls out "Pony, open the door!" The door handle rattles again. I take a step away from it, not saying anything. Like the kitchen, I can find my way around the bathroom blind. I grip the sink tightly and try to gather the courage to open my eyes, which is difficult because the sink is at least two inches lower than it was yesterday, so either it shrank or I grew.

"Ponyboy!" Darry yells again, pounding on the door. I take another deep breath and tell myself that I'll count to three and open my eyes and everything will be the same as it was yesterday.

_One. _

I grip the sink tighter.

_Two. _

Darry yells at me to unlock the door.

_Three. _

I snap my eyes open and feel like someone hit me in the stomach with a pipe. I lean forward and try to remember how to breathe. I can tell why Darry didn't recognize me.

I stagger backwards, hitting the ground hard when my foot catches on the bathtub. This, it seems, is Darry's breaking point because I hear him throw his weight against the door, snapping one of the hinges. It registers that he's going to break the whole thing down if I don't do something.

"Stop!" I yell out "Darry stop! I'm okay! Please-"

I don't finish my sentence, probably because I have no idea what I am asking for. I don't even know if I'm really asking him, or somebody else. Maybe the world.

Maybe I'm asking for this to be some sort of nightmare.

Darry is still yelling things but I can't hear him. I get up slowly from the floor and look at myself again.

It's wrong. It's all wrong.

_I'm _all wrong.

For a brief moment I think I'm looking at Soda. There's the blonde hair and everything. But then I look closer. All the things that make me me; my eyes, the scar on my nose, my mouth, they're all there- but everything is off. My face is narrower, older. It's bruised up in all sorts of colors. There's fresh red and purple marks, blood running from my nose and a split lip, but there is also older ones- black and yellow and green. There is a new scar through my eyebrow- both of which are still the same red brown color they were last night, unlike my hair. My hair is an ugly peroxide blonde and cut like a soc's, but if I push it back off my face a bit I can see some of the original color.

There's no grease in it.

And I'm not in the same clothes I was last night, but a white t-shirt, red flannel, and black sneakers.

My sneakers were white a few hours ago, beaten and dirty, but white.

These are somehow even more beaten and dirty, held together with silver tape and slicked with dark mud.

I look around numbly at the floor around me. My footprints show clearly on the tile.

Darry is still talking to me from outside the door. He stopped yelling at some point, I'm not quite sure when. I can't seem to understand what he's saying but I can sense the emotion there. He sounds almost as scared as I am.


End file.
